


kissing in the blue dark

by Idday



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idday/pseuds/Idday
Summary: Three NHL players that Jack never dated (and one that he’s been with the whole time).
Relationships: Jack Eichel/Noah Hanifin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 262





	kissing in the blue dark

**Author's Note:**

> If you know people in this: stop reading and start isolating. 
> 
> If you don't: please enjoy <3

CONNOR 

... 

Noah knows Connor McDavid a lot better than Jack does, which is how he first picks up on it. Knows Jack a lot better than most people, too, certainly better than people think he does. 

Best friends, that’s the party line. They’ve always agreed that it’s nobody’s fucking business, how much more they are than that. 

It’s also nobody’s fucking business how Jack feels about McDavid, except maybe Noah’s. 

The truth is, Jack doesn’t really care that much. He barely knows the kid and it might rub him wrong how they’re always forced up against each other, but it’s more irritation than true anger and Noah knows that for a fact. The rest is just media speculation and a little bit the way Jack’s face looks. 

But apparently he has McDavid fooled, too, which is probably why he approaches Noah about it, thinking they’re friends after taking a picture together at world juniors and sitting next to each other at the draft lottery. Sure, Noah’s friendly. He’s a friendly guy, he doesn’t see much reason to be otherwise unless he’s pushed wrong, or unless Jack is. 

So, whatever. McDavid comes up to him and says, “Jack really hates me, huh?” 

He says it with half a little laugh, like he thinks he can play it off like a joke. He can’t. 

Noah probably shouldn’t say the truth, which is,_ Jack doesn’t think about you that much. _So instead he says, “nah, he’s just got resting bitch... well, everything, really.” Which is true, and he should say it. 

It’s one of his favorite things about Jack, but that part he doesn’t mention. 

“He seems to really hate me,” McDavid pushes, and Noah sighs. What does he want him to say, exactly? _Oh, no, he wants to be your best friend. _Jack doesn’t. Noah doesn’t. In the scheme of their lives, McDavid is an acquaintance, and why he would want to be more is a little baffling. 

“He’s just under a lotta stress right now, okay?” Noah says. It’s truer at the moment then it’s been all week, because they just got back from visiting with a lot of reptiles. Noah would probably make fun of him more if he hadn’t felt Jack literally trembling against him before he finally just pushed away from the snakes, disembarked from the boat. Gave McDavid enough room to come interrogate Noah. 

“We all are,” McDavid says, which, okay, fine. Sure, they all are. But McDavid wasn’t pacing their room last night, unable to sleep thinking about it, and if he was it wasn’t Noah’s problem. So. 

“What answer are you looking for here, exactly?” Noah finally asks. 

McDavid opens his mouth, then closes it. Noah almost feels bad for him, so he finally relents and says, “listen, he really doesn’t hate you, okay? We would. I mean, he would tell you if that were the case, believe me, and I would tell you, too. He’s a good guy and he would probably be friends with you if things were different. Hell, he might still be. Just. Relax, okay? Give him some space and let him come around on his own.” 

“Okay,” McDavid says, quietly, and then Noah goes off to find Jack, who’s talking to one of the camera guys about how much he hates snakes. The camera guy is trying, badly, to suppress a smirk. Noah puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

It’s hard to remember, sometimes, what’s appropriate in public. Like, he’s pretty sure that he used to touch Jack like this before, still would, even if they weren’t. Well. 

But maybe not, because Jack tenses, only then he turns and sees Noah’s face and his whole body relaxes in the next second and that’s like fucking heroin right there, addicting the way that Jack lets his guard down for Noah, especially during a week like this one, especially with other people around. People like McDavid. 

“You wanna drink?” Noah asks, to extradite him. “They have waters over in the cooler.”   
  
“Okay,” Jack says fake casual, and then as they saunter away, “thanks. It’s, like, embarrassing, you know?” 

“It’s fine,” Noah says carefully. Not making too big a deal, but not blowing him off. He’s always known how to handle Jack, when to soothe and when to push. 

“I know it’s not rational,” Jack rambles on. “Like, they wouldn’t pull those things out if they were going to hurt someone.” 

“Hey, Jack,” Noah says, and they pause on the path. First names are serious shit for them, so Jack turns and looks and they lock eyes. “It’s a phobia. It’s not supposed to be rational. You’re good, okay?” 

He reaches out and squeezes Jack’s shoulder again. Later, when they’re alone, he can do more, but that’s it for the moment. 

And there’s the relaxation, again. The same sense of pride that Noah can get him there. “Okay,” Jack says. 

... 

It started in high school because Noah got there a year late and a step behind. Because in the sea of Midwest nice, there was Jack—an East Coast asshole who felt like home. 

Being friends was easy, seamless. They clicked right away, the first time they’d hung out, like they’d been bros forever, which wasn’t true. Sure, they knew of each other, two kids close in age in the same hockey system in the same state on the same path, but Pi High—that was where it all really started. 

Jack wasn’t necessarily popular in high school in the homecoming king sense, but he was popular in the purest sense. Everybody seemed to like him—the guys on the team, of course, but the rest of the kids at their school, too. He was loud and brash and occasionally insensitive, constantly breaking dress code to shove hats down over his curly hair, but even the teachers seemed to know he was going places. 

Charismatic—that’s the word people used. 

And Noah, even now, still can’t believe it sometimes. That Jack picked him to want. 

...

Outside of the mandated mingling, there’s a little bit of extracurricular partying. Especially with the first six of them, because what else are they going to do? 

Noah would be happy enough to stay in their room, alone with Jack, but that’s beside the point. 

So there’s a lame hotel party, and they go, and luckily someone’s smuggled in some booze to take the edge off. 

And that’s when Noah notices it, the way McDavid’s constantly butting into conversations with Jack, or watching him across the room, or bumping shoulders when they get too close. 

And sure, maybe he’s just ignoring Noah’s advice to give Jack space. Desperate to get Jack to like him, to acknowledge him. Noah’s fucking been there. Only, Noah’s fucking been there, so he knows when it means more and he knows that the best friend always has the information, so he sidles up to Strome, asks, “your boy got a crush there, or what?” 

“Hey,” Stromer says, warning, bristling, and Noah just watches him, carefully neutral, without stepping back or screwing any kind of face. 

“No offense meant,” Noah says, when Stromer is breathing normally again. “Just can’t help but notice. He seems a little... familiar.” 

“What’s it to you if he does,” Strome says, still harsh, and that pretty well answers the question. 

“Nothing,” Noah lies. 

When they get back to their room, the two of them, Jack is his favorite way—a few drinks in, slightly tipsy, flushed and warm and carefree. Noah pins him to the bed and gives him a hickey that his shirt will still cover and then sucks him off, taking his time with it. Jack fists his hair and pulls a little and whines when he comes, and Noah collapses next to him, smug. 

“What was that for,” Jack pants, and Noah shrugs. 

“Just wanted to,” he says. 

... 

It would be funnier, the fake rivalry, if it didn’t irritate Jack so much. If it didn’t irritate Noah, because he knows how McDavid really feels. If there weren’t constantly articles written and interviews shot. Like anyone can blame Noah for needling, when they ask him and Jack about their skating scores, asking what McDavid’s was. 

Luckily, they have enough history between the two of them, the dev program and college, that they’re thrown together more often than not, a safe alternative for Jack when they can’t align his schedule with McDavid’s. They’re going to be on film together, linked together, for the rest of their careers, and Noah wishes he felt a little less possessive about that, but he doesn’t. 

Even when they’re together, they ask Jack about McDavid, but that doesn’t matter to Noah. It's gratifying, feeling Jack straightening his spine, hearing his carefully controlled answers. Knowing that he still doesn’t care about McDavid even though the opposite isn’t true. 

It becomes almost comical, a running joke, how much reporters want to talk about Jack’s rivalry with McDavid and how little Jack cares. _You wanna see a real rivalry_, Noah wants to say. _This is nothing. Eagles v Terriers, baby, that’s where it’s at. _

Noah knows what Jack looks like heated. He likes the chip on his shoulder, wants to curl up there and call it home. Everyone else is boring, in a post-Jack world. Nobody says what they think or gets what they want. 

...

McDavid is especially obvious, the night before the draft. In some ways, it doesn’t matter what happens to Noah, because he’s going to go wherever drafts him and he’s going to wish it was Buffalo. 

Also, it matters a lot. So he’s drinking, a lot, and so is everybody else, and Jack’s at his four-drinks-and-touchy stage and Noah’s across the room and so Jack collapses onto McDavid’s shoulder, instead, and McDavid flushes and stutters under his grip. 

Noah trusts Jack. He also knows what it’s like to fall for him, pinned there under his big arms and his big personality, and he almost sympathizes. 

Maybe that’s why, when McDavid comes over for a refill, he says, “you know he’s seeing someone. Right?” 

“Oh, I,” McDavid says, trying to play it cool. “I didn’t. I mean.” 

“Relax,” Noah says. “I’m not accusing you of anything, okay? Just. I was talking to Stromer, and I think you deserve to know that he’s pretty serious about it.” 

“I didn’t... I don’t like him, like that,” McDavid protests, but his cheeks are pink and it’s a pitiful lie and Noah feels bad, again. Rejection’s never easy. 

“Hey, listen,” he says, somewhere in the neighborhood of gentle. “He’s completely oblivious to shit like this. I promise, he doesn’t think anything of it, and neither does anyone else. And I’m not gonna tell him or tell anyone. But I thought you should know.” 

McDavid nods, and then chugs what he’s filled his glass with, and then refills it. 

“I’m sorry,” Noah says, without really meaning it. 

“Not your fault,” McDavid says, badly faking a smile, and Noah has to take a drink from his own glass to avoid grinning like a total asshole. 

...

They’ve both sobered up most of the way by the time they get back to their room. Jack pins him against the door and Noah welcomes it and they stand there for a while, just embracing, falling into the rhythm of the way their breaths sync up and the way that Noah can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his head. 

“Hey,” Jack says, pulling back, “you know I love you, right?” 

Noah hums and nods and kisses him, because he can’t say anything else. They don’t even pretend like this shit is casual, but they don’t normally acknowledge that it’s not, that it’s sort of the biggest fucking thing in the universe to them. 

They fuck on Jack’s bed, only it’s barely even fucking, slow and soft, and Noah has to bite back tears when he finally comes. Then they move to Noah’s bed together and curl up to sleep, and Noah can’t stop touching him, brushing fingers across his face and into his hair even when Jack bitches that Noah’s going to mess it up, threading arms around waists and fitting legs together. 

“Hey,” Noah says, when the room is dark and they’re almost asleep. “I’m really proud of you, Jack. And I’m really happy I get to see you get drafted tomorrow.” 

“Proud of you, too, baby,” Jack says, and kisses him on the forehead, and Noah wishes it felt like less. 

Then he says, “what did you tell McDavid, tonight? He looked at you like you kicked his puppy.” 

Noah laughs, before he can help it. “Um,” he says, and he’d promised not to tell but also there’s nothing in the world that he wouldn’t tell Jack, so he says, “he has a massive fucking crush on you and I told him that you were taken.” 

“Ugh, no he doesn’t,” Jack says, and Noah laughs again. 

“I promise you that he does.” Noah squeezes him, and says, “not that I blame him, obviously. I know what he’s missing.” 

“Shut up,” Jack says, secretly pleased, “if he should like anyone it should be you. So fucking pretty.” 

“Joke’s on him,” Noah says, “I actually prefer a man who comes second.” 

“Stop,” Jack says, but he’s still grinning and Noah can hear it in his voice and then he rolls over so Noah can spoon up behind him and says, “night, Hanny.” 

And maybe it makes him an asshole, too, but he sleeps like a baby that night knowing there’s something McDavid can’t have. 

... 

SAM 

... 

Everybody told him the NHL was going to be hard. The NHL is fucking hard. 

Yeah, games are hard-fought and travel is exhausting, but the worst parts are the parts that nobody thought to warn him about, that his boyfriend would be cities and most often time zones away, that they’d keep missing calls and texts and accidentally waking each other up at one in the morning, that he’d lose sleep at the thought of the way Jack’s face looked on camera when he’d gotten high-sticked in the chin and had to be helped off the ice. 

They’re going to make it, though. They’re both too fucking stubborn to do otherwise. 

... 

They’re in the same conference, which means playing three times a year. 

Three nights where they can see each other and eat together and crack stupid jokes in person and fuck hard and fast against a hotel room wall because they have a curfew. 

It’s not enough, won’t ever be enough, but it’s what they have. 

... 

Year two is almost worse, because they spend the summer together, in each other’s pockets, training and fucking and seeing each other every day. Going back to Raleigh is like going into fucking withdrawal, the way Noah craves him. 

Also, year two is when Jack moves out of his billet house and in with Sam Reinhart, who seems like a nice enough guy until he’s nice enough that Jack starts talking about him nonstop. Until Jack starts leaving flirty comments on his Insta and the reporters start plugging their bromance and posters start showing up at games. 

They don’t fight that much—neither of them are built for it. They cut too deep, say too much, and besides, what do they have to fight about, really? They’ve been together for years, now, and everything they’ve had to work through has been worked through. They snipe at each other sometimes, light and meaningless, but they haven’t really fought in as long as Noah can remember. 

Maybe that’s why it’s worse, when he loses it on FaceTime one day. Reinhart’s there, in the background. He’s always there in the background. He’s always there, on Noah’s Instagram feed, pictures full of Jack’s grinning face. Always there when they talk, coming up in conversation. 

Noah doesn’t remember how it starts, but he remembers how it ends, the way he mashes the red ‘end’ button right as the camera freezes on Jack’s startled face. 

He can feel his own heart thumping, hard. _Shit. _

When he calls back, a second later, Jack picks up on the first try, grim. “I’m alone, now,” he says, acidic. “Didn’t think we should fight in front of my roommate, so let’s have it out.” 

“I don’t,” Noah says, frustrated. “I don’t _want _to have it out, Jack. I don’t want to fight with you. I feel like shit, right now.” 

“Okay,” Jack says, and the camera wobbles as he settles back on his bed. Noah’s mom always says communication is key to a good relationship, even though she doesn’t know that Noah’s had a good relationship for almost four years, now. That probably means not shouting at each other over the phone, or freezing each other out, so Noah tries to take a deep breath. “Then what do you want to do, exactly?” 

“I want to talk,” Noah says, “preferably alone. Without Sam.” 

“Is that what this is about?” Jack asks. 

“I don’t... maybe?” Noah says. “Not, like. All of it. But some of it.” 

Jack chews that over. “In what way?” And then, before Noah can start, “I mean, I can see how you wouldn’t want to talk in front of him this much, so we can do this alone more often. Just us.” 

“Okay, that’s. That would be good. I mean, I like just talking to you wherever, when you’re in your living room or whatever. It makes me feel like part of things, and I don’t mind if your friends or teammates are around sometimes, or whatever. But we can’t say everything we want if we’re not alone, and that’s hard.” 

“Done,” Jack says instantly. “What else.” 

“I don’t know, it’s. Hard to explain.” 

Jack narrows his eyes. “Are you jealous, Hanny?” 

Noah debates lying for a moment, but he knows Jack would know. He knows it because he would know, in Jack’s place, knows every single one of his tells. 

And Noah likes it, how well they know each other—how he knows Jack’s sushi order and how many reps he can do and what makes him mad enough that his accent comes back. 

Likes that part, too, his accent and his pigheadedness and the way he yells at traffic. Not a fake bone in his body, getting in trouble more often than not. 

Some people don’t understand Jack, but Noah does—he’s in his very bones, been there the whole time. How could he not understand him? 

So he doesn’t lie. He says, “yeah, kind of,” and watches the way the recognition flashes over Jack’s face before he plows on, “it’s not that I actually think anything’s happening, because I don’t. But I am jealous, of him and of everyone on your team, and of, fuck. Of everyone who gets to see you all the time. Because I don’t.” 

“It’s been a while,” Jack acknowledges, because it has. It’s been months since summer and months since they played and it will be months again before they meet up. 

“Yeah,” Noah says, ignoring the lump in his throat. “It has. And I miss you, so.” 

“I miss you too, Noah,” Jack says, softly, and Noah can’t look away. 

“Sorry I’ve been a dick,” he says, finally, and Jack just laughs, which is why they’re so fucking good. 

“Sorry I’ve been one, too,” he says, “we’ll talk more often, alone. Whenever you want. Just say the word.” 

“Word,” Noah teases, and then sighs. “I’ll be better, at, like. Not freaking out when I see people writing fucking fanfiction of you and Sam on twitter, or whatever.” 

“I mean,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows. “The makeup sex can’t be all bad. Right?” And yeah, he’s unbuttoning his jeans now, Noah knows that expression, so he lets his face fall into a grin and leans back into his pillows, reaching down to toy with his own waistband. 

“Right,” he says. 

... 

Come Christmas, Jack’s on his parent’s fucking doorstep with gifts in one hand and a shit-eating grin on his fucking face. Noah loves him so much he almost bursts into tears but also, like, his family’s around, so he settles for a bro-hug and says into his ear, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

They have barely any time off for Christmas. A miracle both of them made it back home at all, and yeah, Noah expected to see him, but only for a few stolen hours. Not at two in the afternoon. 

Jack doesn’t even have to say anything, just makes a face that clearly means, _duh, __Hanny__, _and then says, “your mom said it would be okay if I came over. And my mom said it was fine after I went to mass with them, so,” he says, and gestures at his suit, clearly fresh from church, “here I am.” 

Noah’s family fucking loves Jack, which, if they were, like, out, would be great. It’s still great, because Jack’s awesome and everyone should love him, but it also means that valuable hours of their time together are eaten up by Noah’s parents chatting to him over coffee and Noah’s siblings showing him all of their Christmas gifts. Finally—_finally—_Noah gets him upstairs alone and fucking finally gets to kiss him behind the closed door of his childhood bedroom. 

“Hi, baby,” Jack says, and pushes a hand through his hair. 

Noah’s soft as baby shit for him, always has been. Can’t even hide it. He’s a funny looking kid and Noah pines for every square inch of him, desperate for his attention. Nothing changes. In high school he’d pass notes and now he throws checks and cracks jokes and touches him too much in public, anything for those blue eyes to turn on him for just a moment. Some people look at them and think it’s Noah who’s out of Jack’s league, but Noah knows better. He’s fucking lucky to be around him, and he doesn’t take it for granted. 

Every time he starts an old high school story that Jack finishes for him, he damn near glows with pride. Every time Jack acknowledges their history, acknowledges them. 

And like this, alone together at last, Jack looking at him after months, Noah can barely keep it together. “I fucking love you,” he says, between kisses, “so goddamn much.” 

“Mmm, me too,” Jack says. “I thought after dinner. I could sneak you out, tell your parents we’re going to see a movie or something.” 

“I’d like that,” Noah says, too paranoid to do much more than this in his parent’s house. 

And they do sneak out, and Noah does like it, the way that Jack wants him, too, still hard to believe after all these years. Likes the way that Jack barely throws his car into park before he’s straddling Noah in the passenger seat, bodies pressed together in a way that Noah’s dreamt about. 

They get off like that, quick and dirty and thank god for paper napkins stuffed into the glovebox even though it’s still going to be hell, going home and pretending like nothing’s happened. 

In the quiet, afterwards, Jack grins and says, “Sam says hi, by the way.” 

“Fuck off,” Noah says, lightly, and squeezes Jack into him. Then he says, aiming for the same light tone. “What if we, like. Have you ever thought about telling your family? About us?” 

Jack pulls back a little, face static and soft. Pushes his hand through Noah’s hair. “Yeah,” he says, finally, “we can talk about that, if you want.” 

... 

JEFF 

... 

Yeah, Noah gets traded in the middle of a movie with his kid sister and brother sitting right there. It’s not great, but it’s unique enough that reporters run the story for weeks afterwards. Hey, it’s summer. He’ll take being the story for 48 hours. 

What he doesn’t tell them is that Jack was there, too. Made sure his siblings didn’t set the place on fire when Noah stepped out. And then he came back, trembling a little, and Jack took one look at him and didn’t say a fucking word, just put his hand on the armrest between them, palm up like that’s something they do in public, and let Noah cling like a fucking mast in a storm. Put the armrest up and pulled him closer and covered for him afterwards when Lily asked him if he like the movie and he couldn’t answer because he hadn’t watched the last half of it because he spent that hour with his face in Jack’s neck instead, trying to breathe away a panic attack. 

Jack doesn’t say a lot of shit out loud, even when Noah always knows what he means. But even he, that day, presses Noah back into his sheets and whispers, “love you, love you, love you,” into his jaw. 

... 

Moving west is good in Johnny and Matty and more ice time. Not so great in a different fucking time zone and a different fucking conference and seeing Connor McFuckingDavid a lot more often. 

Noah actually has reason to hate him, now. Irony is, their teams are the ones with a rivalry, four years after the fact. Sometimes, when he sees his smug face across the ice, it’s tempting to say, _remember how you used to be a little in love with Jack? Remember how you might still be? Well, he’s bigger and better and __hotter __than ever, and he’s __still _ _ riding my dick instead of yours. _

For obvious reasons, he doesn’t say that, but. He does plaster his face into the boards whenever he gets the chance. 

... 

Small fucking league that it is, Jack’s most highly publicized new teammate has actually played with Noah for longer. 

Maybe it’s a sign of growth, or something, that Noah doesn’t care how close they are even though this time last year Jack was talking about how excited he was to be going the All Star Game with his best friend Hanny and this year Noah’s not invited and people are creaming themselves thinking about Jack and Jeff there together. 

Or maybe not, because Noah still spends most of that weekend refreshing his feed for new content, even though he’s supposed to be relaxing on a Caribbean beach. 

Either way, when they meet midseason it’s hard to tell Skinny no when he wants to get dinner with both of them. 

Which is fine, because Noah loves Skinny. Not as much as he loves Jack, but it’s good to see them both, and he might still be able to sneak back to Jack’s room for a quickie if they play it right. 

So they go out for steaks and they make it through the entrees without incident, until Skinny perks up and says, “Oh, Eichs! You must know Hanny’s girl!” 

Noah feels more than sees Jack stiffen beside him. “Sorry?” he says, evenly. 

“We used to take him out all the time, trying to get him laid. Face like that, we thought it shouldn’t be hard, you know? But he was always like, ‘no, I've been seeing this girl since high school, blah blah blah.’ Never even looked the other way. So, I gotta know. What’s she like?” 

Noah waits for it to register, holding his breath. Then Jack nudges his ankle with his foot, shrugs. “She’s cool,” he says. 

“Still going strong, then?” Skinny asks, and Noah smiles. 

“Better than ever,” he says. 

… 

“So,” Jack says, when they’re alone, unbuttoning his shirt, “tell me about this girl you’re seeing.” 

Noah meets his eyes, decides to play along. “What do you want to know?” 

Jack slides his shirt off his shoulders. “Must be pretty special, to keep you hooked for so long. Is she nice?” 

Noah laughs, breathless. Kisses him, then pulls back to say, “real fucking special. But not nice, so to speak. I mean, kind, in ways that people don’t expect. But not exactly nice. I like it that way.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah,” Noah sighs, as Jack sinks to his knees. “Sassy. Strong. Sexy as fuck. Gives me shit, but I like that because I can give it right back. Just—exactly what I need. Keeps me grounded and believes in me. Smartest, most talented fucking person I know. Love ‘em to death. Couldn’t see myself with anyone else.” 

Jack’s got his dick in his hand, but he doesn’t lean in to suck it. Looks up at Noah instead, eyes wide. “Really?” He asks. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Noah says. “I fucking talk about you all the time, Jack. Maybe I can’t say it’s you, in so many words, but you’re the best person I know. How could I keep you a secret? So yeah, I tell everyone about my partner. How fucking happy we are.” 

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, presses his forehead into Noah’s stomach, and Noah strokes over his head, memorizing the feel of him, the texture of his hair and cadence of his breath. “Me too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, Noah. Everyone knows that I’m locked up. Fucking stupid in love.” 

“Shit,” Noah breathes, as Jack sucks him down. Weak for him, like always. “Miss you so much, babe.” 

“I’m right here,” Jack says, rolling his eyes, and it makes Noah laugh, which was probably the point. 

He’s aware that they’re both supposed to end up with girls who get to skip the line at the hottest brunch spots, in the near future. Fuck that, though, because one look at Jack means that hosts seat them first anyway and Noah would rather spend his life getting sloppy on AM vodka with someone like Jack than sipping mimosas with anyone else. 

“Yeah,” Noah says. “Gonna keep you, too.” 

... 

NOAH 

... 

Shortly after the season is paused, they get told that they can return to their home city, wait it out. He lasts twenty minutes before he texts Jack—_you going home? _

Immediately, his phone buzzes. _S__ay the word, baby, _he says, _and I’m there. _

_ Word, _Noah says, and buys a plane ticket. 

... 

There’s no fucking hiding what they are to each other at their place. There’re family pictures on the wall, both sides, and just one occupied bedroom. At first it made Noah paranoid, now it just makes him proud. It’s not what his mom would call a sanctuary, sweaty workout clothes spilling out of the hamper and dirty mugs constantly piled in the sink. It’s theirs, though. That’s what matters. 

Something about being there together, in what should be midseason, feels illicit. Like skipping school, making him giddy in getting away with it. 

He wakes up, and Jack is right there, broad back turned on him, still sleeping. Noah has the strong and primal urge to fucking_ bite _him, suddenly, right on his exposed shoulder blade. Something about Jack makes him so fucking feral, sometimes. He moderates it, leans in to press his mouth there instead, hot and wet and no teeth. 

Jack stirs, then rolls onto his back. 

He’s so fucking grumpy in the morning, and Noah loves every fucking inch of him. 

“You’re here,” he says, a little awed. 

It’s March, and Jack is in his bed. Silver linings. 

“Ugh,” Jack says, but he lifts his arm and lets Noah sidle up to him. They’re going to have to work out at some point, but they’re better lifting together, so that’s okay. They both have video calls with various coaches and teammates and reporters and they both have designated Zoom areas so it’s not so obvious they’re both calling from the same apartment and therefore quarantining together. 

But. They haven’t lived together for more than a week before, not ever, and it’s nice. Knowing that Jack’s around the corner or in their bedroom or watching TV on their couch. Always in reach, always accessible, finally Noah’s. 

Noah does set his teeth into Jack’s skin, then, pressing into his pec, not hard. 

“Ow,” Jack complains, “what the fuck, Noah,” but he pushes his hand into Noah’s hair and keeps his face there. 

“You know how sometimes, with something really cute,” Noah says, into his skin, “you want to, like, squeeze it? Like a little baby animal, or something? Sometimes I look at you and I want to bite you. I know it’s weird.” 

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Jack says, but he doesn’t let Noah pull his head back, and so Noah bites him again, gently, where he can get skin between his teeth. 

“Just means that you’re mine,” Noah tells him, and thinks of weeks of them together, isolated, finally alone. How many chances he’s going to get to press Jack into the couch and stand behind him when he’s cooking and fall asleep with his face pressed into Jack’s neck. A tailor-made excuse to keep him here, exclusively, just for Noah. 

“I can live with that,” Jack says. 

... 

Jack’s better than him, more important to his team than Noah, which is sort of whatever. Most of what Jack deals with seems like not a lot of fun, and besides being a lot more likely to get traded, Noah has it made—solid NHL player, good salary, unlikely to be sent down. What else could he even need? 

Noah’s probably going to be a journeyman in this league, that’s become pretty clear. But it doesn’t matter to him, because he’s a fixed compass with one true north, and that guy’s not going anywhere. Sooner or later, through trades or free agency or hell or high water, Noah’s going to go home. 

And Jack’s going to be there. 

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on tumblr prompted: "everyone keeps writing about jack+connor, but they actually don't have any rivalry or anything. if anything jack has more chemistry w/ his teammates (jeff!!) or his friends (hanny!!) & a lot of self doubt™ so anything with that would be great, or secret relationship stuff"
> 
> idk if this is what you had in mind, but that got me thinking and this is what happened next lol... a lil bit of secret relationship with a twist. And of course, you know I couldn't resist sneakin a little bit of McEichel in there... even one sided. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed and are doing well in these strange weeks!!


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